The False and the Fair
by kgregs
Summary: This is the story of Lyra Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark; twin sister of Robb Stark; betrothed of Lord Renly Baratheon; the Winter Rose, whom misfortune seems to follow like a shadow. Begins about a month before the start of the events of ASoIaF/GoT. Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish, and many more.


_My muse struck, and I just had to take a crack at writing a Game of Thrones fic. Just some info to set up this story... it begins about a month before the start of the events of Game of Thrones - so about a month, give or take, before the death of Jon Arryn. My OC, Lyra Stark, is Robb's twin sister. (I know, I like making OCs that are sisters of actual people/characters. It's kind of an easy way out but I like the possibilities it creates.) As for romance/pairings, EVENTUALLY (meaning somewhere far down the plotline) I imagine this becoming a Lyra/Willas Tyrell fic, but that's not set in stone. There will be elements of numerous potential pairings, and I think they'll be evident in this chapter. That being said, I hope you enjoy what I've created._

_(Quick note to the readers of my wrestling fic - please don't kill me. As I said, inspiration struck for this. Now that I've gotten it out of my head I will resume work on TotL.)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but Lyra Stark and my own elements of the plot. Everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin. Title credit also goes to Martin, as "The False and the Fair" is the name of a song in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire._

_Please read and review! :)_

**Chapter One**

King's Landing was even more remarkable than Lyra Stark had imagined, but it was not nearly as beautiful as she had hoped.

Building upon building was piled atop one another as far as the eye could see, cramped and crowded and wasting not a single square inch of space across the vast expanse of the city. Shops on top of taverns, inns across from brothels, granaries and storehouses and manses and all manner of establishments lining narrow filthy streets and ominous dark alleyways, and all of them sloping and looking ever upward toward the three great hills of Visenya, Rhaenys, and Aegon the Conqueror. Lyra wondered what those great Targaryens would think now of the city they had founded 300 years ago, with the Dragonpit lying in collapsed ruin and the crowned stag of House Baratheon flying high above the Red Keep. _Heads would roll, for a certainty._

"I never thought I'd be so happy to see King's Landing," Hallis Mollen admitted. "Welcome to your new home, my lady."

Lyra sent Hal a somber smile. Her lord father Eddard Stark had charged the guardsman with seeing her safely to the capital, some 500 leagues south of her true home: Winterfell. More than a fortnight their small company had traveled on horseback down the Kingsroad, but now that they had finally reached their journey's end Lyra shared no part of Hal's happiness. Instead, a sense of dread grew in the pit of her stomach. Soon Hal and the rest would turn back to the North, and she would be truly cut from all she had ever known—a lone Wolf in a den of Lions and Stags.

"I'm afraid it will be quite awhile before I can call King's Landing home, Hal."

"I think not," Hal returned with a grin. "Tell me, my lady, how often did you retreat to the Library Tower to read every tale written about the War of Conquest and daydream of skies filled with dragons?"

Hal's forthrightness may have offended another lady, but not Lyra. She would prefer everyone speak so freely and honestly. "Too often, if you ask my mother," she admitted. "But the dragons are all dead now, and I'm afraid there's nothing left to see here but greed and filth."

Hal's grin widened. "With respect, my lady, I believe you've become as humorless as your father."

No response came from Lyra; the Kingsroad had ended at last, and her eyes were drawn up in wonderment at the massive gate that barred their way into the city—the Dragon Gate. It was one of seven that entered King's Landing, and its russet-colored archway positively towered above Lyra's head, far higher than any gate at Winterfell. She wished her little brother Bran were here to see it. He would have scaled the wall in an instant if he could get away with it.

"Good morning!" Hal guided his horse forward to meet the armored guards standing watch on either side of the entryway. They each carried an iron cudgel and wore black ringmail and cloaks of heavy wool dyed gold, the garb of the City Watch of King's Landing. "We wish to be granted entrance to the city."

"Who's _we?_" a gruff voice spat, and it belonged to an equally gruff-looking man. Coarse dark whiskers stubbled his jaw, and unlike the others he donned a black breastplate ornamented with four golden disks. Lyra figured he was the captain. The way his eyes lingered made her uncomfortable.

Hal sat up straighter in his saddle, his broad shoulders pushed back and his chest proudly forward as he gave his answer. "Lady Lyra Stark, betrothed of Lord Renly Baratheon, brother to King Robert and your Master of Laws."

Lyra hid her grin at Hal's flamboyant and unnecessary introduction, but it communicated his point; the captain's brow softened as he realized his grave mistake. "Oh yes, of course." He nodded to one of the guards. "Let them pass. Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark."

Proving that she was her father's daughter once more, Lyra's expression remained a stoic mask. "Thank you," she returned, and she led her party through the Dragon Gate, the gaze of every guardsman following as she rode past. Once out of earshot, she turned back to Hal. "I think they're aware of who Lord Renly is."

"It was for affect, my lady," he reasoned with another of his crooked smirks. Lyra mirrored the gesture, but her grin faded fast. The Red Keep loomed like a mountain in the distance, and soon she would meet her betrothed for the very first time.

The road to the castle was broad, dusty, and crowded, and they advanced down it slowly. Curious inhabitants of the city stared up at Lyra and whispered in each other's ears—she swore she heard her family name uttered once, and then again, and then a third time. Had word spread so quickly to the smallfolk of Lord Renly's betrothal? It would certainly explain the cold, jealous glares more than just a few of the young girls sent her way.

On they rode, around the charred remains of the Dragonpit, above the slums of Flea Bottom, down the Street of the Sisters, past the Guildhall of the Alchemists, and finally down the long stretch of road that led straight the Red Keep. From its perch atop Aegon's High Hill the castle's seven drum-towers stood like giants over the city, their iron ramparts patrolled day and night by the watchful eye of the Kingsguard. It was impressive, undoubtedly, but notably small compared to the sprawling ancient grounds of Winterfell. Nevertheless, Lyra was sure that what the Red Keep lacked in size it more than made up for in secret passageways and underground corridors, not to mention the dragon skulls. Lyra couldn't forget the dragon skulls. _I must see those._

It was a long climb up the final hill, and at its crest stood the bridge to the castle gatehouse. Any thoughts of dragons fled Lyra's head in an instant. She would meet Lord Renly at the end of that bridge, and that was at once more terrifying and exciting than any flying, fire-breathing beast she could imagine.

A great bronze gate and portcullis guarded the castle door, but they both stood open with the day, flanked by the white-cloaked knights of the Kingsguard. "Let's hope these guards know you, my lady," Hal commented. "I wonder if the Kingslayer is among them."

Lyra opened her mouth to chastise Hal—it would bring only trouble if anyone _here_ heard him call the Queen's brother by that name—but she never got the chance. She had spotted the iron spikes decorating the crenels, and every single one of them topped with some poor traitor's severed head.

Lyra was horrified. Some had clearly been there for weeks, rotting in the southron sun, while others looked as if they had only been put there just yesterday; but each was just as terrifying as the next, their mouths frozen open in a silent scream of death. A chill cold as ice ran down Lyra's spine, but she couldn't bring herself to look away from the grotesque display, not even as she slowed her horse to a stop in front of the gate. This was a very different place from Winterfell, indeed.

"Lady Stark." A man's voice finally jolted her from her consternation, and when she glanced down there was no mistaking the golden-haired knight that spoke: Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself. "Welcome to King's Landing."

Lyra had never been one to dream of knights in shining armor, but now that she was literally face-to-face with one she found herself quite charmed. Ser Jaime was disarmingly handsome, the handsomest man she had ever seen, with bright green eyes and flaxen hair that shone in the morning sun. Even so, as he helped her down from her horse, Lyra couldn't help but think there was something unsettling about that sharp smile of his. She didn't doubt that Jamie Lannister's charm was just as fatal as the sword he had plunged into the back of the Mad King.

"Thank you, ser," she politely returned. "We're glad to have arrived. It was an easy journey, but a long one."

The Lannister flashed that grin again. His teeth were as white as his armor. "Well, I assure you Lord Renly has anxiously awaited your arrival ever since the announcement of your betrothal. He won't be disappointed; I see now why they call you the Winter Rose."

Hal grunted from beside Lyra. She agreed; she wasn't impressed with Ser Jaime's cheap flattery. "Where is Lord Renly?" she abruptly charged.

"Right here, my lady."

Lyra's heart suddenly began to thrum within her chest, and the next thing she knew she was face-to-face with her betrothed. Lord Renly was the near opposite of Ser Jamie in appearance, with jet-black hair and eyes the color of the sea, but he was no less handsome. Rather than cunning his smile was warm, and there was a definite air of youthful mischief about him. In that moment, at least as far as first impressions went, Lyra decided that she quite liked the king's younger brother.

"Forgive Ser Jamie," he started with a crooked grin. "His years in the Kingsguard have left him out of practice on talking to beautiful women."

"At least I've _had_ practice, Lord Renly."

Renly cast Ser Jaime a sidelong glance, but Lyra paid no mind to the Kingslayer's muttered retort; she was positively taken with her husband-to-be. _He's handsome and quick-witted both. Gods, I think I may have lucked out._ "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my lord," she said with a bashful curtsy. "I've heard much about your brother from my lord father, but I'm afraid I've heard very little about you."

Renly smirked again. "Well, I can only imagine what sorts of things Lord Stark has told you about King Robert, but I promise you—I'm nothing like him."

Lyra smiled in relief. The king was one of her father's oldest and dearest friends, but from what she had deduced he was a lecherous and unfaithful man. Lyra would surely have been miserable if she had been forced to share a marriage bed with a husband who would rather sleep with whores than his wife.

"But enough with the pleasantries," Renly went on. "You've come a long way and I'm sure you want to rest. I've provided a handmaid for you; she'll take you to your chambers, and after you've settled in I can show you the parts of the keep that are actually worth seeing, if you'd like it."

Lyra's eyes lit up—she wondered if he would take her to see the dragon skulls. "I would like that very much, my lord."

"Please, Lyra; I'm to be your husband. Call me Renly."

Lyra's cheeks burned red and she averted her gaze bashfully to the ground. She felt a right fool; never had a man made her so flustered. _Is this what love feels like?_ Even if it wasn't, she realized, for the first time since her father had told her she would be married she wasn't dreading her wedding day.

Gray eyes met blue, and she gave her betrothed a demure smile. "Of course… Renly."

* * *

By the time Lyra had changed out of her traveling clothes and settled into her chambers, Renly had been called into a meeting of the king's small council; her tour of the castle would have to wait. No matter—Lyra was perfectly capable of showing herself around, and her first stop would be the castle library.

Lyra's new handmaid, a kindly but efficient woman by the name of Brella, had told her the library was located in the middle bailey, between the sept and the Tower of the Hand. Brella had been the head of Lord Renly's household prior to being charged with Lyra's care; and as Lyra had learned, she was quite frank in speech.

"Lord Renly doesn't like too much book learnin', milady," she had warned as she twisted her hair. Truthfully, that didn't surprise Lyra in the least; it was hardly typical for a lord as young and handsome as Renly to spend any time with his nose in a book. As for what he _did_ enjoy, though, if anyone could tell it was certainly his former head-of-house.

"What does Lord Renly like, then?" she had asked.

"Tourneys and hunting, same as any young lord," Brella had answered. "But you won't find Lord Renly drunk off summer wine or sneakin' away to the brothels, milady. You needn't worry about _that_."

Brella's tone had given Lyra pause. "Is there something I _should_ be worried about, Brella?"

The handmaid's fingers had slipped then. "Lord Renly has his own interests," she had answered as she picked back up her work. "You'll be free to do as you please, and that's something many a lady in King's Landing would like in a marriage."

Lyra didn't know what to make of that, much less how to respond, and so she had kept quiet while Brella had finished plaiting and fixing her hair. But the conversation was behind her now; she had arrived at the library, and upon entering she found herself shockingly underwhelmed.

"This is it?" There was no doubt now that the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell; the Library Tower back home was nearly twice the size of this place. _Lord Renly must not be the only one who doesn't care for book learning._

Despite her disappointment, Lyra still eagerly made her way through the stacks. After all this was King's Landing, the former stronghold of the Targaryens—there was bound to be some history of the dragonlords sitting on the dusty shelves that she hadn't yet consumed. She was so engrossed with scouring the titles that she wasn't even looking where she was going, and she nearly tripped over a stack of books. Except, upon regaining her footing she realized it wasn't a stack of books at all; it was a man.

"Lord Tyrion!" she proclaimed in surprise. Lyra had never met Tyrion Lannister in her life, but she knew for a certainty it was he she had almost bowled over. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew of the Imp, beautiful Queen Cersei and handsome Ser Jaime's unfortunate dwarf brother, although he clearly wasn't half as grotesque as hearsay made him out to be. Lyra had suspected as much, but his mismatched eyes—one green as grass, the other black as night—were quite jarring.

"I'm so sorry; I didn't see you, my lord," she said, and immediately blushed at her careless choice of words. "I mean to say, I wasn't paying attention."

Tyrion waved her off. "It's quite all right, my lady. Most people don't see me, either actually or because they simply choose not to. I'm more surprised I managed to stay upright. May I ask, though, what is it you're _so_ intent on finding? Given your enthusiasm, I might have to read it myself."

Lyra grinned despite her growing embarrassment. "Oh, I wasn't looking for anything in particular," she explained with some sheepishness. "I've just arrived in King's Landing, and I wanted to see the library. I figure there'd be more books about the Targaryens here than there are back home."

Quiet realization dawned on Tyrion's face, and Lyra knew he had deduced who she was. "You're Lyra Stark," he proclaimed. "Yes, I suppose there would be more books here about the Targaryens than there are in Winterfell, considering your family's rather contentious history with them."

"Oh, I learned a long time ago not to ask my lord father about the Targaryens," Lyra admitted. "He doesn't approve of my interest in them, but I can't help it—considering my family's rather contentious history with them."

The corner of Tyrion's mouth quirked up in an appreciative smirk. "Well, my lord father doesn't approve of any of my interests, either, so it seems we have that in common," he quipped, and Lyra grinned again. She had always appreciated a sharp wit and a quick tongue—her father said she had inherited that from her Aunt Lyanna. "But if it's the Targaryens you're interested in, Lady Lyra, I do have a book I'd be willing to lend you. Are you familiar with _Lives of Four Kings_?"

Lyra's eyes widened in disbelief—oh, she was familiar with the book. It detailed the lives of four Targaryen kings: Daeron I, Baelor I, Aegon IV, and Daeron II. Maester Luwin had mentioned it to her on more than one occasion, and often she had wondered if she would ever get the chance to read it. "The one written by Grand Maester Kaeth? I've been told there's only four copies in existence!"

"And I happen to be in possession of one of them," Tyrion confirmed. "Would you like to read it?"

Lyra was beside herself; she couldn't believe her luck. "Yes, of course. And I promise I'll return it to you good as new."

"I don't doubt that you will," Tyrion returned. "You seem to appreciate knowledge and learning just as much as I do, Lady Lyra, but that doesn't quite explain what you're doing in the library. If I know Lord Renly—and believe me, I do—right now he should be parading you up and down the streets of King's Landing for all to see. He's always basked in the adoration of the people, and your betrothal has been the talk of the city for weeks; I hope you know you've devastated every maid in the kingdom."

"So it seems," Lyra returned with a bit of grin. Now that she had met Renly she could certainly understand their jealousy. "Lord Renly offered to show me around, but he was called into a meeting of the king's small council. So I decided to show myself around, and I thought the library would be a good place to start. Obviously I made the right choice."

Truly, Lyra couldn't have been happier that she had—quite literally—run into Tyrion Lannister. Not only had she acquired a book she had been aching to read, but she had also acquired her very first friend in King's Landing.

A wide smile spread across Tyrion's face, gratitude shining in his ill-matched eyes. "Well, Lady Lyra, I was just headed to the gardens and I would love if you joined me. I'm extremely curious to hear about Winterfell."

* * *

"So what does the Stark girl look like? Blue and thorny, if that 'Winter Rose' moniker is any indication."

Queen Cersei Lannister had anticipated the day of Lyra Stark's arrival with hatred and disgust in her heart. Her loathsome husband the king had announced the girl's betrothal to his brother Renly more than a fortnight ago, but Cersei knew it was not because they would make a good match—it was because Lyra was the niece of Robert's long lost love, her flesh and blood. More than a decade now that she-wolf bitch Lyanna Stark had lain dead in her crypt under the frozen halls of Winterfell, but still Robert pined for her; and by his lovelorn logic wedding Lyra to Renly would somehow connect him to Lyanna once again. _He's pathetic_, Cersei thought as she took another sip of wine. _Pathetic and foul._

"Well, she may be thorny but she's certainly not blue," Jaime answered. "She's a beautiful young maid, with fair skin and pink lips and a supple figure that would look best unclothed. It's a shame, really—it will all go to waste in Renly's bed."

Cersei fixed her twin with a resentful glare. "Well maybe _you_ should fuck her, then."

"Cersei," Jaime cooed with a playful grin; he just loved riling her up. "Lyra Stark is pretty, but a rose is dull compared to the rising sun."

Cersei rolled her eyes. She hated when he waxed poetic.

"Besides," he continued. "I'm sure your husband will take care to fuck her himself. Like you said—he's only brought her here because she's the closest living thing to Lyanna Stark in all of Westeros."

"Oh please, Jaime," Cersei spat. "Robert Baratheon may be a lecher but he's not so immoral as to bed Eddard Stark's daughter. No, he's far more _pathetic_ than that. You know what everyone says, how Renly looks just as Robert did when he wasn't so old and fat. Your dear king wants to live vicariously through his younger brother; this is the marriage he never got but always wanted, played out before his very eyes."

Cersei was certain that was Robert's game. He knew well enough that Renly preferred the company of men, but that wasn't his concern. He would condemn the Stark girl to a loveless marriage so long as it meant he would finally get to live out his tragic romance, even if it was secondhand. _I almost feel sorry for her._

"Well then let's hope some Targaryen prince doesn't emerge and spirit Lyra away," Jaime remarked with a wave of his hand. "Robert would start another war."

"Yes, he would," Cersei agreed. "But at least then I would be rid of him."

* * *

Lyra felt terribly out of place. King Robert had thrown a banquet in her honor, and the Great Hall was filled with nearly every person of import in King's Landing. From her seat at the high table in between the king and Renly she could see them all, shooting her furtive glances and whispering over their goblets. She couldn't care less what things they were saying about her, but she had never felt more alone than she did in that moment. She would have given anything for her twin brother Robb to be there with her now.

"Tell me how your father is, Lyra," the king boomed from beside her. He was on his fourth cup of summer wine already, and he was growing louder and more boisterous by the sip. "It's been far too long since I've seen my old friend Ned Stark. Still as solemn as ever, I bet?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Lyra politely returned. "He wouldn't be my father if he wasn't."

"Well I suppose it's for the best. Had I not had Ned to balance me out when we were younger men I might already be dead! I recall one incident on the road to the tourney at Harrenhal…"

"I've heard this story a dozen times," Renly murmured; Lyra's stomach warmed when his breath tickled her ear. "It gets more and more elaborate each time he tells it, because each time he tells it he's drunker than the last."

Lyra stifled a laugh with her palm. She couldn't believe he was mocking the King of the Seven Kingdoms whilst sitting at his table, even if he was his brother. "You're going get me in trouble, my lord," she said with a smile at him. "I can sense it already."

"Well what's wrong with a little trouble?" he grinned, and Lyra felt herself blush as red as Queen Cersei's gown.

"Lady Lyra." A man had approached the table and was standing before them with his hands folded respectfully behind his back. The first thing Lyra noticed was his stature: he was rather short for a man and slight of build, but even so there was an undeniable air of confidence about him. The second thing she noticed was his shrewd gray-green eyes, and how intently they were trained in on her. Gooseflesh rippled up her spine; whoever this man was, he didn't seem like one to be trusted. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce myself before the evening wore on any further. My name is Lord Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin for King's Landing. I grew up with your mother at Riverrun."

Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat; so this was Lord Petyr Baelish. Her lady mother Catelyn Stark had told her all about her old friend Petyr—and his unrequited love for her. _Now I see why it was unrequited._ "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Baelish. My mother has told me quite a bit about you."

"Has she?" his eyes glittered at that. "Well I hope it was only good things. But enough about me—I was wondering if you would like to dance? If that's all right with your husband-to-be, of course."

"It's not up to me, Littlefinger," Renly returned; Lord Baelish seemed to bristle at the nickname. "It's Lady Lyra's choice."

Again, Lyra was all too aware of all the eyes watching her. Despite Renly's assertion that it was her choice, she didn't have a choice at all. She would dance with Lord Baelish, lest she look like a pretentious and rude little girl in front of everyone who mattered in King's Landing. "I'd be honored the dance with you, Lord Baelish."

"Oh, my lady," Lord Baelish returned with a roguish grin, "the honor is all mine."

Reluctantly, Lyra stood from her seat and allowed Lord Baelish to lead her out onto the floor. The music had turned from a sprightly, jaunty tune to something much more slow and somber. Lyra recognized the song, but before she could remember its name Lord Baelish had started the dance and she had to concentrate on following him. The dances here were different than in the North.

"So how do you like King's Landing so far, Lady Lyra?"

"Oh I like it very much," Lyra answered truthfully. "Lord Tyrion showed me the gardens this afternoon, and lent me a book I've been dying to read."

"Is that so?" Lord Baelish said thoughtfully. "It seems hard-to-find books have come into demand these days…"

Lyra's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"Oh, massive old tomes only a maester would find interesting," he dismissed. "Tell me, did you get a chance to meet your uncle? I'm afraid he's been… preoccupied as of late."

Like Brella earlier, Lord Baelish's tone gave away that he knew far more than he was letting on, but Lyra didn't bother to pry. Her uncle, Lord Jon Arryn, was the Hand of the King, after all—of course he was preoccupied. "He stopped by my chambers before the banquet. He did seem rather distracted."

"Yes well, you know what they say. _The king dreams_—"

"_The Hand builds_," Lyra finished. Lord Baelish seemed impressed.

"Smart, just like your mother," he commented. "If I may ask, what exactly did Lady Catelyn tell you about me, Lyra?"

Lyra glanced down. She couldn't lie to Lord Baelish—he would undoubtedly know—but there had to be a more delicate way of putting the truth. "Well, back at Winterfell my father has a ward. Theon Greyjoy."

"Yes, Lord Balon's son."

"Yes. He… fancies me, but I don't feel the same, and my mother told me when she was young she dealt with… a similar situation."

Lord Baelish's shrewd eyes darkened, and he slowed their dancing to a halt. Lyra got a sudden sinking feeling that she had made a grave mistake. "You may be smart, Lady Lyra, but it seems you're a bit naïve. I know things are different back at Winterfell, but in King's Landing sometimes it's not the wisest decision to be so honest. It could get you in trouble—or worse."

The lump returned to Lyra's throat, and this time it wasn't so easy to swallow down. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said as she averted her eyes to the ground, but then she felt a comforting hand on the small of her back. It was Renly.

"Are you harassing my lady already, Littlefinger?" he asked with an accusatory glare at Lord Baelish. "I don't need you scaring her off on her first night here."

"There's no harassment going on here, Lord Renly," Lord Baelish answered. The impish smirk had returned to his face, and his tone was cool and even. "I was just giving Lady Lyra some friendly advice."

Renly seemed skeptical, but he said no more to him. "Is everything all right, Lyra?"

Lyra nodded. The sympathy in Renly's blue eyes soothed her nerves, but she was still rather rattled at the portent of Lord Baelish's words. The sooner she heeded them, the better. "Yes, my lord; I'm just tired. I've had a long day, and it's late. I think I'll retire, if I may."

"Of course. I'll escort you to your chambers." He gave Lord Baelish a final stern glare, and as he led her away from the floor the man called Littlefinger grinned after them.

"Goodnight, Lady Lyra. And welcome to King's Landing."


End file.
